


sorry about the blood in your mouth, i wish it was mine

by gillanery



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist, Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood & Manga
Genre: F/M, i am so sad and so sorry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-19
Updated: 2013-12-19
Packaged: 2018-01-05 04:31:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,116
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1089640
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gillanery/pseuds/gillanery
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>win•ner (ˈwɪn ər) </p><p>n.</p><p>a person or thing that wins; victor.</p>
            </blockquote>





	sorry about the blood in your mouth, i wish it was mine

**Author's Note:**

> literally inspired by a tweet: "roy and riza getting drunk together post-ishval (only one time and that is the only time riza ever gets drunk after the war)" that's it that's all it is. (all mistakes are mine please forgive)

“What in the world are you doing?”

If so many things were different, if they were different people, Riza would find the sight of Roy’s body sprawled practically on top of the table reluctantly amusing to her, but since they’re not, and things are not different, things are complete  _shit_ , she does not.

“Celebrating.” She hasn’t uttered a word, but Roy is quick enough to answer her question. “We’re the heroes, right? The winners. We  _won_.” He spits out the word like it’s poison (it is), like it’s the  _truth_  (it isn’t).

Her fingers twitch, but there is not gun for her to reach, no trigger for her to pull. There’s nothing, only her. Only her and Roy. Only her, Roy, and a bottle of alcohol.

 She makes up her mind in less than an instant.

She picks up the bottle, knowing fully well that this will be the last time she ever does this. This will be the last time she ever thinks about dulling her senses this way. The last time she will be vulnerable like this because she has too much to lose. They’ve won, yes, but Riza feels like she has  _lost_. She won a war but she feels like she’s just losing and losing and she has little enough already, how much more can she bear to lose? But it just keeps happening and happening and she-

She takes a swig.

And another.

And one more for good luck.

It stings. It  _burns_  her throat, but she doesn’t flinch, doesn’t frown, doesn’t show any signs of discomfort. (She’s been burnt far, far, worse than this. She can take it, she always has.)

She’s on her third glass of whatever the hell they seem to be drinking (she doesn’t bother to check) when she asks, “Do you think we should be forgiven?”

Roy, who has been increasingly becoming two, three Roys, stills completely. There is silence. So much so that Riza can hear the blood rushing through her head. She even thinks she can hear Roy’s blood rushing through his head.

(It’s been a while since she has been in the presence of such silence. For so, so long there’s only been the sound of the trigger being pulled, the shot being fired, the shout of agony or surprise, or who knows what else, and finally, the sound of the body hitting the ground. But even after that there was no silence, not ever. There were only the same noises again and again. Even after leaving the battlefield, even after being miles and miles away from it, Riza still hears those sounds, all that  _noise_. It hasn’t been quiet in Riza Hawkeye’s head for so long that the silence is deafening.)

Then he laughs. She would have flinched at the sound, but she catches herself quickly enough to prevent it. The noise is hollow, she notices, and so, so frightening.

(Soon enough though, she will find the sound of Roy’s laugh, his real, brimming with joy, laugh to be the most wondrous sound she thinks she will ever hear.

Coming second, of course, to the sound of her pulling the trigger to save the life of someone she has sworn to protect.)

Roy hiccups.

Riza does not ask any more questions like that for the rest of the night.

The bottle is almost empty to the bottom now. Riza’s had four? Five glasses? She has no idea how many times Roy’s taken a swig from the bottle.

With nothing better to do, she stares at Roy Mustang’s face. Roy with his black hair and his haunted eyes with dark bags underneath them. With his features bathed in the golden glow of the candle sitting between them she thinks of how she could find him handsome, and it’s not like she doesn’t, but she wishes she could under different circumstances. A handsome young man with haunted eyes. But who is she to think about appearances, anyway? She thinks of herself, thinks of her blonde hair, of her average height, she thinks of her back. Her newly burned back. She wonders what he sees when he looks at her; does he see her only as what’s on her back? Or does he maybe see something more, something beyond her back? She wonders what he  _sees_.

She’s surprised when she finds him staring at her too. She hadn’t noticed him doing that, or maybe they’re taking turns to stare at each other now.

“Wha-at?” She asks. Maybe she’s too drunk to be ashamed of slurring such a simple monosyllabic.

“You- you buried a child, an  _Ishvallan_  child. You-“

There it is.

Her back stiffens and her eyes close, just a second, before she snaps them back open. She did, of course she did, how could she not? How could she walk past a  _child_ , an innocent (so unlike her) child? Roy says buried, like there was a grave or something, a funeral. There wasn’t, there was only her hands and an improvised, makeshift hole in the ground. Definitely less, much less, than what he (what any of them) deserved, but definitely much more than what he was going to get, had she left him just lying there.

“I’ve always-“ Roy’s voice brings her back, and she notices that in her little reaction she has stood up, her hands balled to fists. Roy’s hand is, she feels, lightly touching her right hand (her  _gun_ hand) and she doesn’t know what to do, what to say. She waits. “I’ve always thought you have such- such quiet bravery.”

Roy passes out before she has the time to react.

Riza stands there, looking down at Roy’s body (again), sprawled on the table and she feels something she can’t quite place, something she can’t name. And she doesn’t bother to. Not yet, anyway.

She’s drunk enough to know that she can’t possibly drag Roy all the way to his bedroom so she tries to arrange his arrange his arms so that they hold up his head in a semi comfortable position. She goes to the kitchen and pours him a glass of water. She sets it close enough to him, but not close enough so that he will knock it off when he wakes up. This is something she can picture him doing and there’s no harm in preventing it, right?

She blows out the candle and exits the room. She walks herself back to her apartment.

(And she wakes up with one hell of a headache. The only comfort she gets is the knowledge that Roy is the same, probably worse. It makes her chuckle.)

She even thinks she can breathe a little easier now.

(Maybe she really can.)


End file.
